Darcy shrugged. She couldn’t change the past and she preferred not to dwell on the darker corners of her journey. What was the point when all she saw in front of her was sunlight?
“I survived.”
“When I think of how many women have said the same thing…” Terra shuddered. Quickly, her shoulders squared. “Not every story has a happy ending, but I knew the first time I looked into your eyes, if anyone could beat the odds, it was you.”
“I stumbled more than once. Almost quit.” A fact Darcy only admitted to a select few.
“But you didn’t.” Terra glowed like a proud mama. “You asked if I thought we’d get here? Yes. Absolutely. No doubt.”
“There are a lot of people who think I’ll fail.” Darcy’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Want me to fail. What do you say we prove them wrong?”
“Sounds good to me.” Terra gave a thumbs up. “The reports you asked for are on your desk, a pot of your favorite tea is brewing on the sideboard, and I’ll be around the building all morning, organizing. Call if you need anything.”
Darcy’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor to the neat-as-a-pin polished oak desk. Three times as large as her last office, the decor reflected her style. Nothing fussy. Clean, elegant, with splashes of unexpected color to highlight the subdued tones of blue and brown.
Smoothing her hand over her black tweed skirt, she moved to the bank of floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the Seattle Knights’ main practice facility. What a view, Darcy thought with a happy sigh.
Whether filled with players or empty, like now, her heart never failed to race when she looked at a football field. She took in the breathtaking sight with glowing eyes. Other women’s hearts might race at the sight of diamonds or sapphires; give her one hundred yards of manicured green grass with perfectly placed white hash marks any day of the week.
With a happy chuckle, Darcy took a seat at her desk. As her fingers flew over the computer keyboard, she couldn’t believe someone paid her to do what she loved most. Some might call the long hours and endless problems work. She felt like a kid who’d been gifted with a private playground all her own.
“Darcy?”
Frowning at the sound of Terra’s voice, Darcy glanced at the clock. Two hours had passed since she began. Hardly a surprise. When she was in the zone, time tended to fly by.
Saving her work, she shifted her focus from graphs and depth charts to the next task on her agenda. Her meeting with Joshua McClain. Darcy breathed in and smiled at Terra.
“Show Coach McClain in.”
“He isn’t coming,” Terra said.
“Excuse me?” Darcy was certain she’d suddenly and inexplicably lost her grasp of the English language. “Repeat what you said.”
“Coach McClain’s assistant just phoned. He’s been called away on business. Unavoidable was the word she used.”
Darcy opened her mouth. However, the only sound she could muster was something between a gasp and a wheeze.
Terra poured Darcy a cup of tea and placed the cup on the desk.
“Breathe,” she said, waited, then repeated the request with an added caveat. “Breathe. Don’t explode.”
Darcy gave Terra her calmest, in control look. Under the desk, her nails bit into the palms of her hands. The pain helped keep her focus.
“Me? When do I ever explode?”
“Rarely, and only behind closed doors.” Terra nodded toward the tea. “Take a sip. Slowly, it’s hot.”
“Joshua McClain.” Darcy ground out the words as she did as Terra instructed. The tea didn’t soothe her temper but lessened her desire to rip McClain’s lung from his chest. “And so, it begins.”
“Powerplay,” Terra asked.
“What else? He can’t throw a tantrum or wish me away. Instead, McClain wants me to know that, despite our job titles, he’s boss.” Darcy tapped one freshly manicured nail against the side of the cup in a steady, annoyed rhythm. “Childish, conceited, asshole.”
“Unless his emergency is real. You could give him the benefit of the doubt.” Terra shrugged. “Just once.”
“Trouble is McClain thinks I have no recourse,” Darcy said as though Terra hadn’t spoken. “What can I do other than run to Riley which would make me look weak and ineffectual.”
“Darcy—” Terra began.
“He must think he’s so smart.”
“Darcy!”
“Don’t worry,” Darcy said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll let today’s slap pass without retaliation.”
“Good.” Terra let out a sigh of relief. “Smart.”
“Gives me more time to strategize a plan of attack.”
“I’ve never seen you quite so Machiavellian.” Terra sent her a worried look. “I thought the idea was to get along with the head coach, not plot his gruesome demise.”
“What happens to Joshua McClain is up to him.” Darcy took another sip of tea and let out a contented sigh. “I won’t do anything. However, if he forces my hand, well, you know my motto.”
“Get them before they get me,” Terra said. “I had the words printed on a shirt for you—as a joke.”
“Mm. One of my all-time favorite gifts.” Darcy turned in her chair to look out over the football field. “Next time, I have a new saying for you.”
“What’s that?” Terra asked reluctantly.
“I always get the last laugh.”
▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲
“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE canceled your meeting. Darcy Stratham will think you’re pulling a powerplay.”
Mac glanced at Royce Patterson. They weren’t friends, they weren’t enemies. Their relationship fell somewhere in a murky gray area he didn’t bother to define. There were times, like now, when they needed each other. A fact that made neither man happy.
“Maybe.” Mac shrugged. “Probably. I’ll deal with Ms. Stratham later. Right now, she’s the least of my worries.”
Mac shifted the car into second gear as he came to a stop at the intersection. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel in a combination of fear and anger. Turning his head, he looked the other man in the eyes.
“No reason for you to come.” When Royce’s mouth tightened, Mac shrugged. “You know I’m right.”
“The hospital called me,” Royce said through stiff lips. “I’m listed as Felicity’s emergency contact. Not you.”
“I’m her brother.”
“And I’m—” Royce didn’t finish.
“Ex-lovers don’t count as much of anything,” Mac said with brutal frankness.
“Can’t argue.”
There was a sad quality to Royce’s voice that Mac refused to acknowledge. Where his sister was concerned, everyone who ever cared about her was sad at one time or another. Yet, for all her faults, you couldn’t help but love Felicity. When she was clean and sober, she was pure light. A beacon of happiness. Unfortunately, the joy she radiated had a short shelf life and the closer you were to her, the more you suffered when she inevitably gave in once more to the demons she couldn’t control.
“I wasn’t obligated to contact you, Mac,” Royce said with his own brand of brutal candor. “When the hospital called to tell me Felicity was a patient, I could have left you out of the loop.”
They grew up together. Best friends until Royce broke the bro-code and started dating Felicity. Mac wanted to be happy for them, but by then his sister already had an alcohol problem, turning to drugs when the mood hit her—which happened with increasing frequency.
Unable to help, Mac needed someone to blame, and Royce, madly in love and just as ineffectual at stemming Felicity’s wild side, was an easy target. Their friendship evaporated leaving a trail of bitterness and regrets.
“You won’t be bothered the next time Felicity is in trouble.” And there would be a next time. Mac knew it in his bones. “Now that I’m back in Seattle, I’ll take full responsibility.”
“Understood,” Royce said. He clear
ed his throat. “Mac.”
“What?”
“You may not care, but I’m glad you’re back.” Royce paused. “Welcome home.”
Mac pulled into the hospital parking lot. Turning off the engine, he slid from behind the wheel. He left Seattle when he was eighteen. Eager to leave, anxious to forget, never once in the ensuing years felt a surge of nostalgia for his hometown. A brutal childhood tended to knock the sentimentality out of you fast and early.
“Where’s the sun the weatherperson predicted?” Royce grumbled as they walked toward the hospital entrance.
“I like the rain,” Mac said, breathing the light, cool mist into his lungs.
“The area’s reputation for precipitation is greatly exaggerated. Still…” Royce shot Mac a look. “You must have missed Seattle.”
Mac frowned as the doors closed behind them and the fresh, outdoor scent was replaced by a generic hospital smell. No, he thought as he approached the reception desk, bracing himself for what was to come. He hadn’t missed Seattle. Not even a little.
CHAPTER SIX
▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲
MAC TOOK A seat opposite Darcy Stratham with the uncomfortable feeling he was back in school and about to be reprimanded by the principal for bad behavior.
Of course, Darcy wasn’t a balding, potbellied sixtyish man with a hairy mole in the corner of her nose. She was… Mac used a critical eye to look her over head to toe. She was lovely. Gentle, vaguely old-fashioned, the word suited her, a very modern woman.
Darcy possessed a classic beauty. High cheekbones, clear, porcelain skin. And eyes so blue only the sky on a bright summer day rivaled the color.
Mac almost laughed aloud at the turn of his thoughts. He was not a man to wax poetic. Blunt as a sledgehammer was more his style. He knew where the blame lay. Something about the combination of fear, anger, and hopelessness he always felt after another one of his sister’s relapses left him in a fog.
Though Mac’s mind had cleared considerably since yesterday, a slight haze remained. To his dismay, Darcy, her peach-colored lips, the gentle curve of her jaw, was like a beacon to his unsettled psyche.
“Would you like something to drink?” Darcy inquired.
“Sure.” Mac nodded then remembered his manners. “Please.”
“Hot or cold?”
Mac shrugged, rolling his head in a slow circle as Darcy prepared their drinks. Her back was to him and he had to admit, she looked good from every angle. The tailored pants hugged the gentle flare of her hips while the matching pale-yellow blouse was just sheer enough to hint at what lay beneath without actually giving anything away.
“Here you go.” Darcy handed Mac a dark blue mug. A spray of gold stars covered the handle.
Breathing in the scent, Mac took a sip.
“How did you know I like my coffee black?” he asked.
“One of the many pieces of information I have in your file.” Darcy took a seat behind her desk. “The internet isn’t always accurate about such things. I took a chance.”
“The internet is often wrong,” Mac said. He knew as well as anyone. “But not this time.”
“You aren’t drinking coffee, by the way,” Darcy said, her eyes on the computer.
“No?” Mac frowned. The scent and taste were unusual yet familiar; he assumed because of the blend of beans. “What is it?”
“Dandelion tea.” Darcy’s lips twitched when Mac sputtered over the rim of his cup.
“Did you say dandelion?” he asked over a cough.
“Organic. Caffeine-free. Purported to help melt stubborn belly fat.”
Unconsciously, Mac sucked in his stomach. Was she trying to tell him something?
“I didn’t mean you,” she said with a shrug—and a definite twinkle in her eyes. “Just stating a few health benefits.”
“Okay.”
Mac cleared his throat. Hmm. Strange conversation. He felt more off-kilter than before. Was that Darcy’s plan all along? Was he reading more into a freaking cup of organic tea than he should? Would she mention yesterday’s absence, the meeting he seemingly blew off at the last minute?
On shaky ground already, Mac let the unanswered questions circle his brain and Darcy’s silence put him on the defensive—annoying since he was decidedly an offensive-minded person. Attack before you’re attacked.
“About the meeting I missed.”
Mac waited, but again, Darcy said nothing. The woman had a great poker face.
“I—”
“Did I ask?” Darcy raised an eyebrow.
“No.” Any second now, Mac worried he might begin to stutter. Why did she make him so nervous? “I don’t want you to think my reason was frivolous. Or intentionally antagonistic.”
“Antagonistic.” Darcy met his gaze. “Interesting choice of word.”
Ice Queen, Mac muttered to himself. He raised his chin. If she wanted to slug him—metaphorically or literally—he’d give her an easy target.
“Something came up I couldn’t ignore. Family.”
“Fair enough.” Darcy’s gaze warmed—just a touch. “Next time, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me personally. Your assistant talking to my assistant felt calculated to piss me off.”
Mac was stunned by Darcy’s easy response. Apparently, he wasn’t as skilled at masking his reaction as he thought.
“Family first,” Darcy explained. “Always. That mantra applies to every person in the Knights’ organization from the crew who cleans up after games to you—and me. Like I said, simply let me know. Even if you couldn’t get in touch until last night, I would have understood.”
“All I had to say was family?” Too easy, Mac thought. “Without any details?”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Darcy asked.
“No.” Mac was adamant.
“Then we’re good.” Darcy’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t give my trust lightly, so don’t take off for a romp at the beach with your girlfriend then tell me your niece needed your help.”
Darcy made air quotes around the word niece.
“I don’t romp,” Mac scoffed. “Ever.”
“Everyone romps now and then,” Darcy said, her tone matter of fact. “They just call it something else. Sex. Fooling around.”
“What about you?” Mac had to ask. “What’s your word for romping?”
“Depends on the situation—and the man.”
Darcy answered without blinking. Or blushing. Mac admired her control because, honestly, he felt a little hot under the collar.
“You can trust me,” he said.
Darcy didn’t say she believed him, nor did she dispute his claim. Her wait and see attitude suited Mac just fine. They were in the same boat—still on opposite ends, but willing to move closer to the middle, given time.
“Let’s talk football.” Darcy handed him a dark red folder. “Specifically, next week’s scouting combine.”
Mac felt a surge of excitement. The NFL scouting combine was a yearly event where players performed physical and mental tests in front of coaches, general managers, and scouts. Larger in scope than in his college days, it had grown in significance and allowed teams to evaluate upcoming prospects in a standardized setting.
“I’ve always been leery of putting too much faith in the combine,” Darcy said.
“Draft stocks can rise and fall fairly fast.” Mac nodded. “And I admit the process isn’t perfect. However—”
“Player evaluation isn’t an exact science.”
Darcy’s words were almost verbatim to what he meant to say. Either she was a mind reader, or they shared the same thought process. Whatever the answer. Mac should have been happy to discover she was competent at one part of her job. Instead, he frowned.
An NFL team was like an intricately constructed machine, one that needed constant attention and fine-tuning. Darcy Stratham had yet to prove she could keep a dozen balls in the air at the same time. Until she
did, Mac wasn’t about to cut her any slack.
“Whatever your opinion, the combine is a hell of a show. Do you plan to be there?” Mac asked as casually as possible while inside he shouted, please say no, please say no.
“Of course, I’ll be there.” Darcy tapped the nameplate on her desk. “General manager, remember?”
Mac wasn’t likely to forget. At first, he’d hoped she was a nightmare and he’d soon awaken. No such luck.
“Sherman Clyde,” Mac said, naming the player who most interested him.
Clyde wasn’t on most people’s radar. However, he was fast, strong, and could turn out to be a real sleeper pick in the draft—if he performed well at the combine.
“Defensive lineman out of Syracuse.” Darcy nodded toward the unopened file in Mac’s hand. “He’s number seven on my depth chart.”
Mac’s frown deepened. First, again, she surprised him with her knowledge. Second, why only number seven?
“We need defense,” he said as he shuffled through the sheets of paper until he came to the one with Sherman Clyde’s information. “You only have him sixth on your list. He has the skill and body of a player who can start right away.”
“I don’t agree.” Darcy’s gaze didn’t waver under Mac’s glare. “I admit he’s good. But I think he needs seasoning. If we can draft him late in round four or five, fine. But I won’t waste a high pick on someone who isn’t NFL ready.”
They continued to argue, moving their arguments from one player to another, and Mac’s frustration grew. At one point, he jumped to his feet, pacing the office, gesturing with both hands. Darcy was the opposite. The more heated he became the cooler her demeanor.
Fire and ice. After an hour, Mac felt his head might explode. His only consolation was that, despite her cool as a cucumber demeanor, Darcy suffered from the same affliction.
“Enough,” she declared after their last foray of contrasting opinions. “My head is pounding. And I never get headaches. Never.”
“Never?” Mac inquired. Was the woman superhuman?
“Okay once,” Darcy admitted, massaging her temples. She pressed the intercom button on her desk. “Maybe twice.”
The Devil Wears Blue Jeans (One Pass Away: A New Season Book 1) Page 6